An unusual throng filled the streets and the Great Square when the king
returned from the house of Ahimelek to his own palace. Priests were
everywhere. It seemed as if the ecclesiastical hives of half the cities
of Phoenicia had swarmed along the coast, and lit again on the rock of
Tyre. Some of these priests, with unkempt hair and mad eyes, were
haranguing the crowd; others were engaged in excited debate among
themselves. The palanquin of the king moved among the people as if it
were the ark of some strange religion; for, while a few glanced at it
with respect, many regarded it with rage, and scarcely restrained the
impulse to lay violent hands upon it. Egbalus and his devotees had
evidently done effective work, not only in disseminating their own
venomous spirit, but in organizing their various guilds for action in
emergency. The royal attendants noticed that a band of priests moved
just ahead of them, and that another band came behind, as if the king's
person were either honorably escorted or dangerously menaced. Still
another company of priests moved hastily, yet in order, away from the
palace gate as the king approached it.
Hiram was himself too much engrossed with his own thoughts fully to
take in what was transpiring beyond the closely drawn curtains of his
carriage. But, having passed within his own gate, he suddenly awoke to a
sense of some unusual environment that was being spun about him.
Entering his private apartment, he was possessed by that mysterious
power of clairvoyance through which one is made conscious of a presence
that is neither seen nor heard. He was impressed with the fact that the
room already contained an occupant. The instinct of danger, reinforced
by an acquired habit of vigilance, led him to place his back against the
wall, and his hand upon his dagger hilt. Uncertain of the loyalty of
even the private servants of his chamber, he determined to face the
unknown menace alone. He dismissed all his attendants, and closed the
door behind them as they made their exit. Prepared to strike at any
living thing that had dared to invade his privacy, he stood a moment
listening, and searching with his eyes every object which the thick
screen of the hanging lamp left in the shadows.
"Who goes here?" was his challenge.
A whisper came from beyond the curtains that shielded one end of the
divan:
"It is I, King Hiram."
"Why, Hanno! what means this? Are you mad? Is everybody mad?"
The low tones of his friend's voice bespoke continued caution. Hanno
laid his hand upon the king's arm as he said, "Let us first make sure
that we are alone. If I could steal admission here, others might."
He raised the shade from the flaming wick that floated in the oil. With
drawn weapons the two men searched every nook where there was
possibility of concealment. They were alone.
"You are in danger, my king. I anticipated no harm to you in the open
streets, for the priests are interested in protecting you there; but I
feared lest some of the devils might give you foul play here: so I crept
in, no matter how. You know the plot? No? It was further along than I
suspected when we parted this afternoon. You, Hiram! Oh, the treachery
of it! the cowardice of it! You, my king!"
Hanno's voice was choked with uncontrollable rage. "You--you are to be
the sacrifice to Baal!"
Hiram stood gazing stupidly into his friend's face. He heard his words.
He understood them, and yet he could not take them in. The power of
thought seemed paralyzed. Then, gradually, he came to realize the
meaning of what he had heard. At first he thought only of the indignity
offered his throne. Then, brave as he was, there came a tremor of dread,
as the horrid rites of the sacrifice filled his imagination. That
cruelty which he had refused to sanction, where the victim was the
humblest babe among his people, was to come upon himself! He saw himself
a bound and helpless victim. He felt the flames, but they chilled him
to the heart's core. For the first time in his life he was afraid.
The two men sat down together upon the edge of the divan. For a long
time neither spoke. Nor was it necessary. Rapidly the king put together
in his memory many recent occurrences. His keen judgment saw their
significance, and that they focused in the terrible fact which Hanno had
announced.
"Blind! blind! blind I have been; but I see it now," groaned the
stricken man. Then, starting from his horrible reverie, he strode across
the apartment. Pausing under the full glare of the lamp, he held aloft
his dagger:
"I swear before Baal that if he demands the sacrifice of the King of
Tyre, the King of Tyre shall be both priest and victim! My own hand
shall strike the blow; not theirs. And the altar shall be the dead body
of Egbalus. He first shall fall. I shall seek him."
He moved towards the door. His friend stayed him.
"You cannot go out. The house is closely guarded," said Hanno. "Egbalus
has filled the city with bands of Galli. They have been coming into Tyre
from the country around for days."
"I will cut my way through a thousand of them to the dock, and take to
the sea," cried the king, in the valor of his despair.
"It is too late," replied Hanno. "When I heard the decision of the
priests this afternoon I tried to arrange for that; but your biremes
have all been scuttled, and mine is stolen away. The very captains in
the harbor have been bedevilled by the priests. Brave fellows though
they are, like all sailors, they are superstitious, and believe that
Baal has put a curse on every wave for any one who would attempt your
rescue."
"Then, my dear Hanno, you too must go, and leave me to my fate. I will
not have my life if it endangers yours. Go! Appear as my enemy! Save
yourself! I will know that your heart is true, even if your hand should
tie the cords and cast me into the flames. Go!"
"Never!" cried Hanno. "Did not you and I see the flames when forty
thousand Sidonians burned their houses over their heads and perished
together, rather than fall into the hands of the Persians?"
"Then let it be so, Hanno! And right here will we emulate them. See,
this flame to this curtain, and this couch shall be our altar!"
As the king spoke, he reached the lamp from its hanging, and brought it
close to the heavy draperies.
"Hold!" cried Hanno. "This is no time for madness, but for cool heads.
The sacrifice cannot be for some days yet. Time breeds opportunities.
Let us watch!"
"For what?" cried the king, burying his head in his hands.
Nearly an hour passed in silence, broken at length by Hanno:
"Egbalus has made a prediction that, so powerful is the will of Baal,
the god will send the spirit of holy zeal into every heart in Tyre; that
the very rays of the sun-god to-morrow will inspire all they fall upon
with such acquiescence that every one would gladly take the place of the
sacrifice. As I came in here, only a moment before you, a herald was
running across the square, crying, 'The king consents! The king
consents! Praised be Baal!' The lying devil of a priest has already
perjured his soul with that counterfeit of the royal word."
"Ay, I did consent."
Hiram then related to Hanno the scene at the house of Ahimelek, where,
under misapprehension of its full import, he had approved the
sacrificial celebration.
"It is well, then," said Hanno. "Why not seem to verify the high
priest's interpretation of your assent? Apparently yield. It will divert
suspicion from any plan we might adopt."
The young men talked through the entire night, and in the early dawn
Captain Hanno, disguised as a market vender, was let out the great gate
with a good volley of curses from old Goliab, the porter.